


The Leveller

by WinterisComing (orphan_account)



Series: The Leveller'verse [1]
Category: MCU (Marvel), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angsty Wanda, Bruce is gone, Bulletproof, Canon Compliant, Drunkenness, Earth Element original character, F/M, Flashbacks, Literally the MCU with an OC added, New Avengers, Partying, Plot Twist!, Practically immortal OC, Pretty simple, She misses her brother, So does Clint, Tony makes anappearance, pietro dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WinterisComing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When the world goes to shit, you put your money in the bank.” Braxton deadpans. <br/>“Language.” I mutter. <br/>Or In Which, Braxton Greene becomes an Avenger. Starts at the same time as A:AoU and ends right before the Civil War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Leveller

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! New story. This is my better Avengers story, but I actually prefer Winter Mist.

Ah, New York!   
Home of Coney Island, the Statue of Liberty and the Metropolitan Museum of Art!   
The place where you can stroll down the Boardwalk, sample various ethnic foods, and (even now, three years after the battle) pick discarded Chitauri parts out of abandoned buildings.   
Yeah, that’s right. I live in New York, New York. Post-Battle of New York. It’s not too bad really. I was there for the battle. The Avengers will never know it, but I dispatched a couple of stray Chitauri warriors. I don’t know why I did it, even now, but I think it was because of how much I just love this city. New York’s evolved so much; it’s crazy, but the city’s kept its distinct flair. It still feels the same to walk down my old streets.   
I’m on a stealth walk down an alley at the moment. Today’s a bad day. I don’t feel like fighting off thugs so I’m taking the long way home. My home is literally on my back and I could probably just set up camp wherever, but I’ve gotten pretty attached to my usual spot. That’s why I’m creeping around the backside of town like a class-A weasel. But turns out, my effort is for nothing, because I’m standing face to face with Grunge. Not like hippy-dirty-hair-week-old-jeans grunge, but a tall, skinny, rat-faced man named Grunge.  
“Shit.” I breathe. I got caught by the worst possible person today.  
“Shit’s right, Prep.” Grunge growls at me in his distinctly New York accent; behind him, his five rent-a-homies shift their weight and glare at me.   
A few actually pop their knuckles in preparation for the impending beat down. Out here they call me Prep, short for preppy, because I am rumored to have an immense superiority complex. On a good day, I’d be all over these wanna-be toughs, show them that my superiority isn’t just a complex, but today I just can’t make myself care about getting them into line.   
Grunge is the unofficial official boss of the underworld I live in, but as I take a step forward today, his eyes widen and he stiffens slightly. Even as he’s preparing to kick my ass, he’s still scared. They all are. I’m a wild card. I don’t have a place in the hierarchy, but only the freshmen try to mess with me (usually on a dare or something, stupid kids); and occasionally Grunge, hoping either to convince me to quit foiling his schemes, or whip me into submission. (Neither of which work, mind you.)  
Today is no different. But when I make no move to start cracking bones, Grunge straightens up and comes at me with a sadistic smile on his face. He shoves me over to his goon squad and tosses me into their greedy fingers. I thrash around less in an effort to free myself, which I could do easily, but more to remind Grunge that he needs all five of his boys to keep me steady. This has only happened one other time, getting caught on a bad day, that is. Not to say I don’t have a lot of bad days, it’s just that usually I’m a better creeper. Today’s a really bad day.  
Grunge’s cracked lips are drawn back in a constipated sneer, showing the crooked yellow teeth beneath. He draws back a fist and jams it into my stomach. I double over in the hands of my captors, ‘cuz it hurts pretty badly. Grunge isn’t a bad fighter; he just needs help to overcome an assailant. He comes back again with a right hook that fills my mouth with blood from my cut cheek.  
I spit a wad of bloody phlegm at his feet. He retaliates with a sharp uppercut that snaps my head backwards. I laugh, blowing the drooping bangs out of my face.  
“Yeah, I guess I deserved that one.” I grunt. Grunge growls, and then kicks my chest; and all the air in my lungs rushes out in a breathy huff. It takes me a second of panic to resume breathing, at which point Grunge promptly gives me a black eye. His next punch breaks my nose. I hear the bone crunch before I even feel it. He’s enjoying this; I can see it in his eyes. He’s drunk on euphoria at catching unawares and creaming the Leveller himself.  
He flicks open a switchblade that he’s produced out of nowhere and grins. He twitches and my black t-shirt is cut open and yanked off, revealing the grey, skintight, sleeveless, workout tank beneath. He grins wider and grabs my throat, bringing the knife back to stab me. My vision’s started to blacken around the edges, and I feel myself passing out, when suddenly Grunge is yanked away. The air returns to my lungs in a rush, and I look up to see Grunge in a chokehold against a broad, leather-armor clad chest, gasping for air and looking even smaller than usual.  
Grunge looks more surprised than anything, and he barely flails as he starts losing air. At the last moment, however, Grunge looks straight at me and his face twists with malice.  
“Kill him.” He gasps, fainting.   
Grunge’s thugs don’t waste time; they whirl on me, pinning me to the brick wall and grabbing Grunge’s knife from where he fell. His attacker, a tall caped blonde person with more muscle mass than should be humanly (not to mention legally) possible, frowns and flicks his eyes up and to his left, dropping Grunge in a boneless heap. Something whistles through the air and the lead thug drops, shuddering violently. He’s being electrocuted; I can smell the voltage from here. He has a straight twig-like appendage sticking out of his side. It’s an arrow, but he isn’t dead, just unconscious.  
The other four thugs don’t even blink. They pull out silenced guns and start shooting wildly, not even bothering to aim. A large blue and red blur flies into one goon’s face, ricocheting into the chest of the next. They drop like rocks, and the last two men drop their guns and run. A slim, lithe, black-clothed figure drops onto one. He’s out before he hits the ground. The other is dropped by a small projectile from a suit of red armor.  
A trim, bespectacled, average-looking man in a light purple shirt comes over to me, helping me off the ground. Bruce Banner.  
“Hot dang.” I smirk, and my eyebrows raise, an impressive feat considering one is split and hurts like hell when I move it. “You’re the Avengers.” I’d heard that they’d dispersed after the Battle of New York, but obviously after the whole Hydra file dump thing, they’d come back together.  
“Damn straight.” The iron suit says. Its face plate raises and I see the face of Tony Stark. I turn away, swallowing my rising anger, and focus on the tall, red white and blue clad figure in front of me.  
“Are you okay?” He asks. It’s Steve Rogers; Captain America. I nod tightly.  
“I’m good.” I swallow, rubbing my chest where Grunge kicked me. My throat still hurts a little, but it’s already getting better.   
“So what was that?” The black clad figure from before asks. Upon further inspection, I see that the figure is a woman. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. She smirks. “Drug deal gone wrong?”  
“No.” I grind out. Hold it in. Don’t explode on these people; they just saved your life. “No.” I repeat. “They’re jealous because I make honest money and they don’t.”  
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it Nat?” A disembodied voice says with a chuckle. A man dropped out of nowhere, wearing purple and black and holding a bow. Hawkeye, Clint Barton.   
“No, not really.” Romanoff shakes her head dryly, pretending to contemplate the question.  
“Just glad nobody got hurt.” Banner says in his gravelly voice, glancing at Romanoff.  
“Aye. These men will wake soon, as good as new.” The taller blond, Thor, said.   
“That’s why I better make myself scarce.” I say dryly.  
“What, you couldn’t fight them off?” Stark quips. I can hear the mocking in his voice.  
“I could’ve.” I say evenly.  
“So why didn’t you?” Rogers steps forward. There’s no condemnation in his tone, only curiosity.  
“Today’s a bad day.” I mumble.  
“What?” Romanoff frowns.  
“Today’s a bad day.” I say louder.  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hawkeye says critically.  
“Nothing to you.” I shrug. “But I don’t, I can’t, fight on bad days. Usually I just sneak home, try not to run into anyone. Usually I’m better at it. But today must be worse than usual.”  
“Ah.” Steve nods.   
“So, thank you for saving my life, but I’ve gotta go.” I smile and bow. I can’t just walk away, because the Avengers are in a semi-circle around me. Looks like I’ve gotta do this the hard way. I take a deep breath and jump. I focus hard and I go invisible mid-leap, landing on the fire escape above, holding on by my fingers, with one foot braced against the railing. I hear Thor actually growl, and Stark curse under his breath. I come back visible and hoist myself over the railing.  
“What the hell?” Romanoff says, frowning up at me.   
“Sorry.” I say sheepishly. I get a running start and leap from one fire escape to the next one ten feet away, attached to the building opposite. I just keep jumping like that until I can no longer see the heroes nor hear their exclamations of surprise.   
Avoiding them was easy the first time, but something tells me this won't be the last time we meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Say what you need to say.


End file.
